Doctor Blake and Mr Hyde
by LadyIngenue
Summary: London, 1886. A madman is stalking the city. Beth has been left in the care of Doctor Philip Blake, a man torn between two realities: the good doctor and the evil Hyde. Can Beth save him from himself, or will the darkness overtake him and destroy them both? AU no ZA. Bethernor slow burn.
1. Chapter 1

**Welcome to my newest story, _Doctor Blake and Mr Hyde._ Regular readers will know that I'm a Bethyl shipper, but that I also love Philip Blake/Brian Heriot. He just about took over in _They Seek Him Here_ (and got in a kiss before Daryl, the wicked man) so I thought it was about time he had his own story. **

**The stark difference between Philip and Brian is what gave me the idea for this story: what if the Philip and Brian personas were switching back and forth, uncontrollably, one good but troubled, the other psychopathic and hungry for power?**

 **It's based on one of my favourite Victorian novels, _The Strange Case of Doctor Jekyll and Mr Hyde_ by Robert Louis Stevenson. ****Not read it? Doesn't matter: it's the story of a man who creates an alter ego for himself so he can indulge his vices unchecked.**

 **But I was never satisfied with why Doctor Jekyll wanted to liberate his dark side in the first place, or the way the story unfolds, so this fic will be a very loose interpretation of Stevenson's story that I'll take in my own direction. And I'm going to have to work pretty hard to make the Governor worthy of Beth, right?**

 **Massive thanks to Nine Bright Shiners, who has helped me develop this story from its inception and is a terrible (wonderful) Philip/Brian/David Morrissey-enabler.**

 **I hope you enjoy this chapter! Please leave me a comment and follow the story if you like it so I know whether it's worth continuing :)**

...

There was a thick fog in London that night, and Beth sat close to the carriage window as it made its slow progress through the chilly streets of South Clerkenwell. The gas lamps cast eerie globes of light in the vapour and pedestrians appeared and disappeared outside the carriage window like ghosts.

She was on her way to the home of a man she was too young to remember meeting, whose character had been only crudely sketched by her father: Doctor Philip Blake; physician and scientist; gentleman. He'd once been a student and then a colleague of Doctor Hershel Greene's, and a professional correspondent of his since Doctor Greene and Beth had moved to Hampshire when Beth was six years old.

Now Hershel Greene had been called away to the continent, and he needed to find a respectable home for his daughter to reside in until his return. Beth would have been far happier with one of the ladies in the village, but her father had scoffed at that. They were his patients, not his friends. So instead she'd been sent to London, to reside with the only sort of friend her father had: another doctor.

Beth sighed and looked out the window once more. And then she started. There was a man walking beside the carriage, his long legs easily keeping pace with their trundling speed. He wore a top hat and the clothing of a gentleman. She couldn't see his eyes in the darkness but his head was turned toward hers and there was a fixed, sinister grin on his face, his lips pulled thin and his teeth showing. As she stared at him he mouthed three words.

 _Let me in._

Beth started back from the window in fear. She was about to knock on the roof and call out to the driver to stop, but then she checked herself. Perhaps she was being hysterical. The man might only be trying to amuse himself on a dull evening by frightening a young lady. She leaned forward to look out the window again –

The door opened, and in sprang the man. He clamped a hand over her mouth, secured the carriage door behind him, and pulled Beth close against his side. She struggled, but he was a large man and very strong.

Even though she couldn't scream she was making as much noise as she could in the back of her throat. Until he reached down into his boot and pulled out a knife. He showed it to her, turning it in his hand so the blade caught the meagre light. It was wickedly pointed at the tip and he pressed it into her side. It was sharp enough that it could slip between the whalebones of her corset and through the layers of silk and cotton she wore.

He gave her a warning prick with the point of the knife and then removed his hand from her mouth. His meaning was clear: scream even once, and you won't live to scream again.

'My how you've grown,' he said in a low voice, his lips close to her ear.

'Do you know me, sir?' she whispered. She didn't know him. She still couldn't see his face properly but she could see his mouth and the shape of his jaw out of the corner of her eye, and it was unfamiliar.

'What man wouldn't know an angel like yourself?' And he laughed softly. 'You have visited each of us in our dreams. Where is it you are travelling tonight, all alone?'

Beth's heart was pounding but she kept her head. 'Please, what is it that you want? There are some coins in my reticule, but I don't have much.'

'You don't?' he asked, mock concerned. 'That won't do. What else do you have?'

'Nothing, sir. I have nothing.'

He twisted the knife, and the point nicked her side. She winced.

'Tis a pity,' he said. 'I suppose I must be on my way, then.' She heard the smile in his voice as he said, 'But I must have something to remember you by.' He looked her over, and then grasped one of her hands in his large one. He held her pinkie finger against the blade of the knife, even that slight pressure drawing blood. 'A finger, perhaps?'

Beth struggled in his arms. 'Please, sir, I beg of you –'

He gave a low chuckle, his cheek pressed against hers. 'I wouldn't, sweet angel.' But he didn't move his knife and together they watched as her blood trickled along the blade.

'A kiss, then,' he whispered.

Beth's mouth opened and she felt her cheeks flame.

'What's this?' he asked, pulling back and smiling with cruel delight. 'Blushes? Is the maiden so innocent?'

'Sir, I am unmarried,' Beth said, still staring at the knife, not daring to refuse him outright while he held her finger so against the blade.

'That matters little, in my experience. But I am not without feeling. This time I will be content with a chaste lover's gift. A ribbon, perhaps, or a …' His eyes roved over the lace on her bodice, the small gold earrings in her earlobes, her cascade of curls. 'Ah,' he breathed. 'A lock of your hair.' He finally let go of her finger and, quicksilver fast, separated a curl from the rest and sliced it free. He shoved the knife in his boot and wound the curl round his finger. Blood from the knife glistened among the golden strands.

'Next time it will be a kiss, I promise,' he said. He tipped the finger wrapped in the curl to his hat. Then he opened the carriage door, jumped lightly out, and disappeared into the fog.

He was gone as quickly as he'd appeared. The entire incident couldn't have lasted more than two minutes. Beth sat back against the upholstery, her heart pounding. Tears threatened to collect on her lashes but she breathed in sharply and tilted her head back, refusing to let them fall. It was an ordeal precipitated by the fog, the slowness of the carriage and the necessity of travelling alone, conditions she would never allow to arise again. As she'd always been told, London was a dangerous place. Her father himself had told her as much, and yet he'd been the reason she'd been abroad this night.

 _Daddy, how could you let this happen? How could you leave me alone like this?_

But tears threatened again when she thought about her father, far away across the continent by now. No matter what that hateful man had said, Beth would take precautions, and there wouldn't be a next time.

Not twenty seconds after the sinister man had left the carriage the driver called the horses to a halt. He clambered down and opened the carriage door.

'Fifty-two Clerkenwell Street, miss. Can I help you down?'

…

Doctor Philip Blake awoke with a throbbing head and a groggy feeling that told him the worst had happened again, before he'd even opened his eyes. How long had it been since his last transformation? Two weeks, he thought. There was no pattern to this madness. Sometimes it happened every night for a week. At other times he had peace for a month of days together.

He opened his eyes and looked up at the velvet canopy overhead, trying to remember what he'd done. As always, there was nothing but blackness; blacker than the dark of dreamless sleep. But unlike sleep, which brought only refreshment, this blackness was cloying and sinister, for he knew that the other part of his psyche had taken over the reins of consciousness and walked in his skin.

Blake got out of bed and took stock of his person. As Hyde, he seemed to have undressed before he'd got into bed and his clothes were in an untidy pile on the floor. There were no unexplained cuts or bruises on his body. No whore's perfume on his chest. No muddied feet. With luck Mr Hyde had spent an uneventful night. He'd be able to allay his fears further once he'd read the morning paper.

He drank a draft of water from the ewer, splashed water over his face and put on fresh undergarments and a linen shirt. Yesterday's trousers, waistcoat and jacket would do. He rubbed a hand over his stubbled chin. He couldn't face shaving, and he wouldn't be going out anyway. He didn't like to leave the house after a night spent as Hyde. A superstitious habit, as if he could hide from the things he'd done.

When he went downstairs there was a blonde girl sitting at his dining table, eating breakfast. His reaction was gruff and immediate. 'Who the devil are you?'

She looked up, startled, and he saw that she was a young woman, not a girl. She was also exceedingly pretty with clear blue eyes and porcelain skin. She stood, her expression a little timid in the face of his unfriendly greeting.

'Doctor Blake? Your housekeeper admitted me last night when you were out. I am Miss Beth Greene, Doctor Greene's daughter.' She gave him an uncertain half-smile. 'I believe you were expecting me.'

Greene? Of course, Hershel Greene's daughter. Was it yesterday she was coming? He'd lost track of the days. And he hadn't been expecting a young woman of eighteen or so years. In his mind Doctor Greene's daughter was still a child. How she'd grown.

Damn Greene and his letter that had come too late to allow a refusal. When it had reached him Blake noted from the dates that Doctor Greene had already sailed and the girl was on her way. He didn't want the girl in his house.

He could feel himself scowling but hadn't the energy or presence of mind to do anything about it. 'Yes. Well. How do you do.'

And he turned abruptly to the sideboard to serve himself some breakfast.

…

Beth drank her tea in silence and covertly watched Doctor Blake read _The Times_. He seemed in no mood for conversation, and read in a rather agitated manner. He scanned the first page of the newspaper while holding his breath, and then the subsequent two. Then he seemed to relax. He put the paper down, spread marmalade on a piece of toast, took a large bite and then settled back to read in the more usual, leisurely manner.

 _What a strange man_ , Beth thought. Outwardly he was not peculiar. He was in his prime, the age at which a gentleman usually takes a wife; but Beth knew that there was no wife. He was tall and robust, and had one leg crossed over the other as he lounged in his chair. His hair was thick and brown, neatly styled, and he wore a plain, dark suit, white shirt and plainly tied neck-cloth. The only signs that all was not as it should be in Doctor Blake's life were that his face was lined with exhaustion, and there was dark stubble, slightly salted, on his chin.

Beth wondered what had happened the previous night to make him forget the arrival of his house-guest and keep him up so late.

She preferred to study Doctor Blake rather than think about the incident in the carriage, which set her heart thumping painfully whenever it intruded on her mind.

…

Blake finished his breakfast and retired to the library, taking curt leave of the girl.

He stood by the window and looked out onto the street. There'd been nothing untoward in the morning paper. No murders. No attacks or thievery. No police had come knocking on his door. He felt himself begin to relax. Perhaps he would go out after all. What hour was it? He felt in his pocket for his pocket watch but his fingers touched something else. Something soft.

He pulled it out. It was a lock of blonde hair, curled into a circlet. Dark, rusty blood was visible among the strands.

…

 **Please do comment and let me know what you think of _Doctor Blake and Mr Hyde_ so far and if you're keen to see more!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you so much to the people who have read, reviewed and followed this new story! It's very encouraging. Writing these strange alternate universe stories always feels risky as they're so different to the show, but I love putting the characters into these weird and wonderful worlds.**

 **Today we're going to see Doctor Blake doing what he does best, which is doctoring, and Beth learning more about this strange man and strange city.**

 **Massive props to Nine Bright Shiners for helping me develop and write this story. We both live in London and we're meeting up for a Victoriana history afternoon today! We didn't know each other before meeting on this site, and it's another reason why I'm loving writing these fics.**

...

Beth sighed and closed the anatomy textbook with a thump. She'd been at Doctor Blake's home for three days and she was thoroughly bored. At home she had occupation: keeping her father's laboratory tidy, ordering chemicals and replacing broken equipment, attending patients with him. She was used to being kept busy, and she enjoyed the work.

The house on Clerkenwell Street was a Georgian townhouse with three floors aboveground and one floor below for the kitchens, plus the cellars. It had white columns at the front and was comfortably decorated. Potted palms stood on the black-and-white tiles in the hall. There was a large, polished mahogany table in the dining room with a brass and cut-glass chandelier overhead. The library was darkly masculine with burgundy carpets and leather winged chairs.

The doctor's laboratory was in a separate brick building out the back. It was kept locked when Doctor Blake wasn't home. Beth had tried the door.

She'd spent most of her time in the library. Blake kept mostly medical books, but there were atlases and histories as well.

She went to the library window and looked out onto the street. It was a bright and sunny day and there were a great many people walking about outside, but every time she contemplated joining them she felt the prick of a knife against her ribs and the loathsome intruder's hot breath against her ear. She shuddered. Was it a blessing that she hadn't seen that man's face, or would it have been better to know who had terrorised her, in case she saw him again?

Sensation prickled between her shoulder blades and she turned. Doctor Blake was standing in the doorway, hesitating, as if not wishing to disturb her. Beth had the feeling he'd forgotten she was even in the house.

'Oh – good morning. Did you need a book?' She gestured at the shelves, and then felt silly for inviting him into his own library.

He nodded and then went to the shelves, hands clasped behind his back as he browsed. Without turning round, he said, 'If you are in need of occupation, Miss Greene, might I suggest a walk to St Paul's Cathedral, or to Russell Square?'

Beth had never been afraid of walking around the village at home but she didn't want to venture onto London's streets alone. 'I – um, I'm afraid of getting lost.'

'The streets around here are very regular, I assure you, and most anyone could direct you back to Clerkenwell Street.'

'Thank you,' Beth said, a touch irritated but his insistence, 'but I do not want a walk. I am used to being kept busy.'

Doctor Blake half-turned and examined her as if she were a specimen in a jar. 'What manner of occupation are you used to?'

'Helping my father with his work. I acted as his nurse. Assisted in his laboratory. I see that you have one of your own. Can I help you with it? Label bottles, wash equipment?'

He turned back to the shelving. 'I need no help in my laboratory.'

 _One of those scientists, are you? Too precious and independent for anyone's help_ , Beth thought, glowering at his broad back.

A few minutes later he asked, 'You say you were a nurse?'

'Yes,' Beth said. 'I often accompanied my father on his rounds.'

'To do what? Hold his bag? Pat old ladies' hands?'

Beth glowered again, though he couldn't see it. 'I can perform a blood transfusion. Stitch wounds. Administer ether.'

Doctor Blake seemed to pause in his hunt for his book. Beth waited, expecting him to scoff that she, so young and a female to boot, would know how to perform such procedures.

He selected a book from the shelves and turned, contemplating it in his large hands as if examining it minutely. 'I am a patron of two hospitals. St Barts and Great Ormond Street.'

Beth waited for him to go on.

'I haven't employed a nurse in some time,' he murmured, still frowning down at the book.

She wondered what had happened to his last nurse. Quit, she supposed, in the face of such surliness.

He straightened, fixed her with a stern look and said, 'I do rounds on Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays.' Then he strode out of the room.

Beth stared after him. Was that a request for her to accompany him?

…

The next day was Wednesday. Beth was eating breakfast at eight am when Doctor Blake came downstairs.

He looked over her blue silk dress with consternation. 'Miss Greene, today is Wednesday.'

She forced a smile and looked up at him. 'So it is.'

'Did you accompany your father on his rounds in such attire?' he asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee where he stood.

'Oh, am I to accompany you?' she asked, all sweetness. 'I must have missed your invitation.'

Doctor Blake shifted his weight. She saw his hand clench by his side. 'Miss Greene, would you accompany me on my rounds today?'

She waited, still smiling.

'Please.'

She put down her porridge spoon. 'Why, I'd be delighted, Doctor Blake. I shall change into a plainer dress. I'm afraid I don't have a cap or apron though.'

Doctor Blake seemed to think for a moment. 'Wait here.'

…

Blake went to the linen press where he knew Eliza's old uniforms were stored. He took out an apron and starched cap and held them in his hands, running his thumbs over the clean white cotton.

What the hell was he doing? He hadn't had a nurse in over a year for a very good reason. When Eliza had died he'd vowed never to have a young woman in the house again, or even work closely with one.

It made hospital rounds difficult as the nurses who worked there were often too busy to help him with patients. Miss Greene's help would be invaluable to him. Was it safe for her, though? Should he not be making arrangements for her to be gone from his house, not asking for her help? He recalled the almost arch way she'd looked up at him, waiting for him to ask her – nicely – to accompany him, and the corner of his mouth quirked. And she could use needles and anaesthetic, too …

Miss Greene, he reasoned, wasn't anything like Eliza. Hyde seemed to like cheery, rough, working-class girls. Servants and prostitutes. Miss Greene was a well-bred young lady with clear, blue, assessing eyes. She didn't seem like the sort to attract a man like Hyde, or be taken in by him either. Miss Greene was more to his taste.

Blake felt a lurch of alarm. His taste? He didn't have a taste. Pretty, feminine and intelligent, that was all Beth was. He slammed the linen press closed and went back to the dining room.

Miss Green had changed into a plain grey cotton dress, and accepted the cap and apron from him. She put on the apron and tied it around her slender waist. Then she went to the looking-glass on the wall, put the cap on and pinned it in place. She had a short black cape with her that she settled over her shoulders, and then turned to him with a smile. A genuine smile, warm and friendly. 'There. Will I look the part at your big London hospitals?'

Blake scowled, looked at his hands, and then cleared his throat. 'I'll fetch my bag.'

…

Beth was almost happy as she walked by Doctor Blake's side through the sunny London streets. They were on their way to St Barts Hospital, an ancient and venerable institution, a place her father had told her much about.

As they walked, Beth noticed that many people seemed to know Doctor Blake and greeted him respectfully as they passed by. Doctor Blake responded with a silent nod of his head. He cut a handsome figure in a long grey coat, sombre black suit and top hat. He held his medical bag in a gloved hand.

They passed through an archway and into the courtyard of the hospital. Beth had never been to a large hospital before, and remarked on it to Doctor Blake.

'Yes, you have,' he said. 'You used to accompany your father to the teaching hospitals when you were small.' His mouth twitched. 'Sometime you would get into the students' medical bags and lecture them about the proper care of their instruments.'

She looked up at him, surprised. 'Did I?'

He held up his heavy leather bag, an amused glint in his eye. 'Do you not recall this bag, Miss Greene?'

Beth laughed, shaking her head. 'I didn't, oh please say I didn't!'

He smiled at her. 'You have nothing to be self-conscious about. I assure you I was quite careless with my instruments back then.'

He took her into one of the large, grey buildings that lined the courtyard and up to the second floor. Doctor Blake took off his coat and jacket and rolled the sleeves of his shirt back to his elbows, and then washed his hands at a sink with a bar of carbolic soap. Beth took off her cape and did the same.

'This is a tuberculosis ward,' Doctor Blake murmured in a low voice. 'We try not to make the sufferers feel like lepers, but if you get any bodily fluids on your hands, make haste and wash them as soon as you can without giving offence.'

Beth was touched that he thought of his patients' comfort as much as her welfare.

'Do not stand too close to the head of the beds, and if someone sneezes, hold your breath and take a step back. They will understand. Have you seen tuberculosis before?'

Beth nodded. 'Yes, there were some cases in the village.'

'You have not seen it like this.' He picked up his medical bag and walked into the ward.

Beth followed him. It was a large, airy, ventilated room with big windows, all open despite the freshness of the day. There were a dozen narrow beds down both sides of the room, and in each was a man, thin, pale and glassy eyed. Some were young and some were old. Some coughed. All seemed to struggle to draw breath.

Blake approached the first bed on the left and greeted a man in his mid-thirties with dark circles under his eyes. 'How are you, Mr Owens?'

'Can't … complain … doctor,' the man wheezed, and managed a smile.

Doctor Blake put his bag down and began examining the patient. When he opened the man's shirt Beth saw a surgical scar that still had half a dozen fresh stitches.

'Stethoscope please, Nurse Greene.' Doctor Blake held out his hand to her.

Beth opened his bag, found the stethoscope and passed it to him. She couldn't resist peering inside the bag, checking that the syringes, ampoules, clamps and vials were all correctly arranged. They were.

As they moved onto the next patient, Doctor Blake murmured in her ear, 'Is my equipment to your satisfaction, Miss Greene?'

She ducked her head to hide her smile.

They spent the next few hours in that manner, Doctor Blake examining each patient and talking to them, his manner gentle and unhurried. He seemed to value the interaction with his patients as much as the examination itself. Beth passed instruments as he needed them, and washed and redressed surgical incisions. Most of the patients had them, and she didn't know why. She wanted to ask, but knew to hold her tongue while he was working.

Just after one pm they headed back to the house on Clerkenwell Street, the atmosphere between them easier than it had been since her arrival. For several hours together Beth hadn't felt lonely, or homesick, or bored, or frightened by the strange man who'd invaded her carriage. How good it was to walk in the sunshine after a morning's work.

'Thank you for your assistance. You are a good nurse, Miss Greene,' Doctor Blake remarked.

She smiled up at him. 'Thank you. I enjoyed accompanying you.'

'They are quite pitiable, those men,' he said quietly. 'The worst in my care. It can be hard to look upon them.'

Beth considered this. They were wretched in their illness, every word an effort, every moment a struggle for breath. Yellow eyes, pallid skin. But what she'd noticed most was the way their faces had brightened as they'd talked to Doctor Blake. He made a difference to them, medically and emotionally, by giving them his undivided attention and care.

She was silent a moment before asking, 'Can I ask you a question about your patients?'

He looked at her in surprise. 'Of course. You can ask me anything related to medicine.'

'Oh – really?' Beth bit her lip. 'Some men don't like being questioned, I've found.'

Doctor Blake gave her a puzzled look.

'Never mind,' she said quickly. 'I wanted to know why so many of those men had surgical scars on their chests.'

He nodded. 'I thought that you might not have encountered that before. It's a new treatment, quite experimental, but I've had some positive results. The disease causes lesions in the lungs that won't heal while the patient continues to aspirate. So I collapse that part of the lung temporarily by packing part of the chest cavity with gauze. While the lung rests, it heals.'

As Beth thought about this a strange, sparkling feeling began circulating through her blood, as it always did when she saw some new medical opportunity. 'Why, that is remarkable,' she exclaimed. 'I had no idea there was any surgical treatment for the disease.'

He smiled at her, thoughtful. 'You are interested, then, in surgical treatments?'

She nodded. 'Oh, yes. When they work the patient feels the good effects immediately. The doctor feels like he is really making a difference.'

Doctor Blake studied the pavement ahead for a moment. 'Yes, that is exactly how it feels.' He turned to her. 'Have you ever thought of becoming a doctor yourself? There is a college for women to study medicine in London.'

She thought for a moment. 'I don't think my father would like that. He's made it very clear to me that there are things that I'd be better off not knowing.'

'Because you are a woman?'

Beth shrugged. 'I presume so. I do not understand why I cannot be a woman and yet also understand medicine. I have a desire for love and marriage, but also a need for purpose. I don't know which I wish to pursue, but I am told it cannot be both.' This made her feel particularly sour, as she was sure her father, the doctor had travelled to the continent because of a woman. She gave her companion a curious look. 'You never married, Doctor Blake?'

'No, I never did.'

He seemed to want to leave it at that, but her curiosity prodded at her. Doctor Blake was a handsome man. Tall. Fine figured. He had a compassionate and attentive nature that seemed to draw one in. But very private, too. He had been prickly with her, but cautiously friendly as well, as if he wanted her company but also resisted it.

Doctor Blake watched the path of a swallow overhead. 'You are looking at me like I am a medical bag in disarray, Miss Greene.'

She blushed and bit back a smile. 'Old habits, perhaps,' she said.

…

Blake shut himself inside his laboratory after lunch. He looked around at the bottles and boxes and unwashed beakers, and general disarray of the room, and thought how pleasant it would be to ask Miss Greene to help him put it all in order. Doubtless she would be as efficient at that as she had been as his nurse, but she was too curious. He'd felt her wanting to question him about himself and he was loath to have anyone poking about in his private life.

He sat as his desk and took out his diary, and wrote an account of his last transformation into Hyde – what little he knew of it – and then flicked back through the pages to his last bout of experiments. They had all been failures. Nothing he tried could reverse the terrible consequences of his former research.

He took out his diary from three years earlier and opened it to the critical pages.

...

 **I hope you're enjoying the story so far! I'd love to hear what you think. I reply to all comments.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you to everyone who has commented, I love hearing from you! And thank you to Nine Bright Shiners, for helping with the story in general and the back story for Milton and Christine.**

 **Today's chapter shows Doctor Blake's diary entries from three years earlier, and then we jump back to the present and he and Beth pay a call on some familiar characters.**

...

 _Thursday, March 3 1883_

 _This morning I woke on the floor of my laboratory. My blood pressure was high and heartbeat rapid, but despite a great sense of nausea I was hopeful. Throughout my delirium of the night before I had been sure that when I thought of Christine I felt no covetousness, and when I thought of Milton there was no maddening jealousy. To test the lasting effects I took out Milton's paper on his theory of memory – and gave a howl of anguish when the familiar antipathy rushed through me. I was consumed with the desire to destroy them for what they have. Why have I been burdened with this capacity for devastation and envy? Why must I feel like he has wronged me with his happiness?_

 _I want to cut that part out of myself like it is a cancer. I feel I am close. The experiments will continue._

 _..._

 _Tuesday, March 22 1883_

 _For three nights together I have not been able to recall even a fragment of how I passed the hours. I may have been asleep, but I have no memory of being in bed, and I do not feel rested. This morning I took up Milton's paper and thought about his position at the hospital that I have coveted, and I felt nothing. My heart should have leapt, but it was curiously silent._

 _Something feels strange._

 _..._

 _Friday, March 25 1883_

 _Something has gone horribly wrong. This morning I went to call on Christine and the housemaid paled and shook when she saw me. She tried to close the door but I forced my way inside. Her mistress cried and screamed when she saw me, and begged for mercy. She would not let me approach and told me that I had said and done such terrible things, and was I never to leave them in peace?_

 _It is the nights I have lost; I have not spent them in sleep or delirium, but in tormenting them._

 _..._

 _Saturday, March 26 1883_

 _Milton came to see me. There was such hatred in his eyes and he will not believe me when I say I do not remember the things have done. I begged for his forgiveness but he said he always suspected that I have a jealous and spiteful nature._

 _I have a name for the thing that I became in those lost hours: Edward Hyde. Milton said that I called myself Hyde when I came to their house, as if I was pretending to be someone else. He will not believe me that I was someone else._

 _Instead of removing that dangerous part of myself I have liberated it and given it a will of its own. It acts without conscience and remorse, using my body and my face._

 _I must reverse the effects of my experiments immediately._

 _..._

 _Monday, June 6 1883_

 _There had been no relapses for nearly a fortnight and I had begun to hope that Hyde might be gone for good, even though I have had no success with finding an antidote._

 _This morning I woke to the news that a whore had run into the street screaming that a madman had carved his initials into the flesh of her thigh. Everyone is talking of an E. H. and wondering who he could be._

 _My nurse, Miss Eliza Kercher, has begun to act strangely. She stares at me. Today I asked her if she'd ever heard the name of Edward Hyde but there wasn't a flicker of recognition in her eyes. She does not seem afraid of me so perhaps she has merely noticed I am not myself. Or it is nothing at all._

...

Blake sighed and slammed the diary closed. Nothing he'd tried in the previous three years had reconciled the two halves of his psyche into one, or even affected how often Hyde appeared. He'd tried locking himself up at night but Hyde always knew where to find the key. He was sure that Hyde knew his every move. Sometimes he felt like he was being watched by something outside his own body, and found himself turning quickly to find that there was no one there.

Just after eleven p.m. there was a knock on the door and the housemaid handed him a note. He read it and his heart sank.

…

Blake stood hesitating outside Miss Greene's door. He couldn't hear any sound from the other side and he was loath to disturb her rest, but if things were as dire as he suspected they were he would benefit from her assistance. He knocked softly.

A moment later he heard her muffled call of enquiry.

'It's me,' he said. 'I –'

The door opened and she looked up at him with sleepy eyes. She wore her nightgown and blinked in the light from the candle he held. For a moment he stared down at her, wondering that she was so trusting of him, so willing to open her door when he came knocking in the middle of the night.

'Something's wrong,' she said, studying his face. 'I'll get dressed.' She closed the door again.

He waited downstairs and she appeared a few minutes later in her grey dress, throwing a cloak around her shoulders.

The night was clear and cold and they walked north-east, toward Shoreditch. The houses grew smaller and the streets grubbier. There were few abroad at that time of night and those that were about were either drunk or looking for trouble. Blake kept a watchful eye as they walked.

He stopped at a squat, brown brick terrace and knocked at the door. It was opened by a middle-aged woman who peered myopically up at him. 'I'm the doctor,' he said, and he and Miss Greene were admitted.

…

Beth held her tongue as she followed Doctor Blake upstairs. She'd seen from the look on his face when he'd roused her that there was some emergency, and her father had taught her to be a silent helper. The more serious the situation, the more silence was required; the family of the patient would be creating enough noise and confusion.

Upstairs was a room with two small beds. In one lay a child, a girl of about eight. Beth's heart turned over. Sick children were the most distressing cases. The girl's eyes were closed and her body was motionless. Beth looked hard, and was relieved to see the rise and fall of her chest. A woman sat beside the bed, weeping.

Speaking softly, Doctor Blake helped the woman to her feet and began questioning her. When was the child taken ill; what symptoms had she complained of first; how long had she been unconscious. The woman was in her forties, Beth guessed, and had short, silvery hair. She spoke in tones of despair, wiping tears from her cheeks, her eyes never leaving the child's face.

Sophia, as the girl was called, had complained of a headache the previous evening, and had seemed sleepy. She'd woken with a fever in the morning and slipped into unconsciousness that evening.

When Doctor Blake had finished questioning the woman he looked up at Beth and then his eyes flicked to the door. Beth understood and helped the woman out of the room and downstairs. She left the woman with the one who had opened the door, who was a neighbour, and went back upstairs.

Doctor Blake was examining Sophia. He checked her pulse and asked Beth for his stethoscope, and she handed it to him. His listened, and then laid a hand on her forehead for a moment, looking pensive. Then he put a hand under the girl's head and felt her scalp. Checking for bumps and injuries, Beth guessed. It looked like a concussion, but for the fever.

He frowned deeply and looked up at Beth. 'Does her neck feel stiff to you?'

Beth went to the other side of the bed and slipped her hand beneath the girl's neck, cradling her head. Her skin was hot and damp to the touch and the sinews of her neck felt like rods beneath her fingers. She nodded. Not a head injury and concussion, then.

'Help me turn her over.'

They turned the little girl in the bed and Doctor Blake felt up and down her spine. Throughout this Sophia didn't stir or open her eyes. Her limbs were floppy. They placed her on her back once more. Beth watched as he performed a battery of reflex tests – tapping her forehead, the centre of her lips, her knees. Either there was a response where there should be none, or no response where there should.

Beth felt a creeping sense of dread. When he was finished he stood, regarded the child, rubbing a hand over his chin. 'Have you seen this before?' he asked, turning to her.

It was disease, not injury, and there were very few things that could come on so quickly and cause such devastation. 'I think so. Is it polio?'

He nodded, his eyes downcast. 'Will you sit with her a moment? I will talk to her mother.'

Doctor Blake's face was set in grim lines. She'd seen expressions like that on her father's face, and she felt pained for him. Doctors saw illness and death every day, but it was never easy to give bad news.

Beth sat in the chair next to the bed and held Sophia's unresponsive hand. A few minutes later there came the sound of loud weeping from downstairs and Beth felt her eyes prick with tears. She blinked rapidly as she heard Doctor Blake ascending once more. Even though the prognosis was bad she knew there were treatments they could try and she needed to concentrate.

He stood by Beth's elbow a moment and watched the girl. Then he sighed deeply. 'You go back, Beth. Get the neighbour to find a hackney with you.'

She looked up at him, startled. 'But there are things we can do for her.' He'd called her Beth, not Miss Greene or Nurse Greene, but it didn't feel intimate. It felt hopeless.

'I know. And I will. But it will be a long night and I can manage.'

Beth stood and looked him in the face – as best she could, at least, with their height difference. 'I think I can be useful.'

He regarded her. 'I know you can. But I'd rather you weren't here.'

She looked at him, confused and hurt. Hadn't she held her tongue when she'd wanted to ask questions? Helped him with the diagnosis? Helped him with the girl's mother?

Seeing her expression he said gently, 'I'd rather you weren't here when it reaches her lungs.'

Understanding dawned. He didn't want her to watch the little girl die. She would struggle for breath, turn blue. Her mother would wail and tear at her hair. There wouldn't be anything for them to do. They would feel worse than useless. Like intruders. Like monsters.

But at least there would be two of them. Doctor Blake wouldn't have to feel all that alone. She'd never left her father's side at a deathbed and she wasn't going to leave his. Resolved, she looked up at him. 'What can I do?'

He touched her arm briefly, giving her a small smile, and she thought she detected gratitude in his sombre eyes. 'Quinine for her nervous fever,' he murmured. 'And a mustard poultice.'

While he checked Sophia's vital signs and administered the reflex tests again she opened his medical bag and found the hypodermic syringe and bottle of quinine. She passed them to him and he drew up a measure of the drug and injected it into the vein at Sophia's elbow.

Beth mixed up a mustard poultice and began spreading it on bandages. 'On her legs?' she asked, and he nodded. The mustard would stimulate blood flow and the nerves, and the idea was it would reverse the paralysis that had set into Sophia's limbs. In the face of so sick a child it seemed no better than a token gesture, but she knew how important it was for them to do something, to give them hope as well as the mother.

'Her eyes look a little sunken,' he said. 'She likely hasn't drunk any water in some time.' He hesitated, and she knew he was considering the risk of giving a polio patient fluids. Sophia's swallowing reflex might be abnormal as well. 'Let's try a little, if we can wake her up.'

There was a ewer in the corner and Beth poured a little water into a cup while Doctor Blake sat the girl up and supported her with his arm. 'Sophia? Sophia, can you hear me?' No response, and her head was slack. He shook his head, and Beth put the cup down again.

A few minutes later Sophia's mother came into the room, and she hesitated by the door as if she was a trespasser. Doctor Blake urged her to come in and sat her down by the side of the bed. She took her daughter's hand in hers and then looked up at him. 'She feels cooler. Her fever is going down. Thank you.'

Beth's eyes flicked to his face and she saw his jaw tighten, and she could tell the woman's gratitude didn't sit well with him when he'd been able to do so little.

There wasn't much for anyone to do over the next few hours. The neighbour went home, and Beth made tea for them all.

Doctor Blake took her aside when she came back upstairs. 'I want to give her some privacy with her daughter,' he murmured. 'I'm going to go downstairs. Will you sit in the corner, and call out to me if there's any change?'

'Of course.'

But when Beth retreated to a corner the woman called her forward to sit by her, and Beth drew her chair up alongside.

'You're new,' the woman said thickly, he eyes never leaving her daughter's face. 'I haven't seen you with the doctor before.'

Beth nodded. 'My name is Beth Greene. I've been with him a very short time.'

The woman glanced at her and gave her a small smile. 'I wouldn't have guessed that. Carol Peletier,' she added, introducing herself.

Beth supposed that was because she'd already been a nurse for several years, though Mrs Peletier would think her too young for the experience. 'Have you known the doctor long, Mrs Peletier?' Beth asked her.

'Yes, nearly four years. He's been very kind to Sophia and me. Did he tell you about us?'

Beth shook her head.

Mrs Peletier spoke softly, telling Beth how she'd first met Doctor Blake when she would come to St Barts with sprains and fractures that she couldn't explain. He would press her occasionally to tell him how they'd happened, but she'd always lied. After the second visit he gave her his address and told her to come directly to his home the next time she needed medical attention. He never took any money from her.

'Black eyes, a broken nose. That sort of thing.' She sighed. 'I was married at the time, you see.'

Something about the way Mrs Peletier connected her marriage to the injuries seemed so sad to Beth; as if one naturally followed the other.

'With Doctor Blake's help I left my husband and took Sophia. It's against the law, you know, to take a child from their father. I think he could have got into trouble as well as me. But he did it anyway, and set me up here in secret.'

'What happened to your husband? He never found you?' Beth asked.

Mrs Peletier shook her head. 'He drank himself to death last year. And now my –' Her voice hitched and she bowed her head.

Beth saw that Sophia's breathing was laboured and her chest barely rose. She went to fetch Doctor Blake. They kept silent vigil for another two hours, Doctor Blake standing at the foot of the bed, Beth sitting beside Mrs Peletier, all three of them listening to the sound of the girl struggling for breath as her lungs failed. Beth felt tense and useless.

An hour after dawn Sophia died. Beth took the poultices off the little girl's legs and wiped them clean with a damp cloth, a lump in her throat. Mrs Peletier held Sophia in her arms, rocking her. She thanked them both when they left, and they murmured what condolences they could.

The streets were grey and there were few people about as they walked home. In the distance they heard the chiming of a clock striking the hour.

'Mrs Peletier told me what you did for her and Sophia,' Beth said when they reached Clerkenwell Street. 'It was very kind of you. Not many would take such a risk.'

Doctor Blake didn't reply.

In the hall of his home she turned to him. 'Your rounds this morning. What time will you go?'

He shook his head. He had a shadow on his chin and cheeks like he had the first time she had seen him. Perhaps he'd stayed up late that night with a patient that night too. 'Get some sleep. I'll be able to manage.'

She looked up at him. 'I will come.'

...

Blake put his hands in his pockets. He was grateful that she'd come on the call and even more grateful that she'd stayed with him until the end, but he'd been selfish enough. She was barely more than a child herself, though when he looked at her he saw a young woman. A very capable young woman. But she was under his care just the same and he doubted her father would like her good nature being taken advantage of.

'It's more children, Miss Greene, and you have just attended a child's deathbed all night.'

'I am your nurse –'

'You are not my nurse,' he said. 'You are my guest.'

Her mouth twitched. 'I'm not even that. I'm an unexpected visitor that has been foisted upon you. Let me be useful, please, or I shall become embarrassed.'

Despite himself, he smiled, and passed a hand over his eyes. 'You are very welcome here, Miss Greene. I mean that.'

'Won't you call me Beth?' she ventured.

He looked at her. He had called her Beth, hadn't he? In the sickroom.

'I've never been called Miss Greene so much in my life and it feels strange,' she explained. 'Either Beth or Nurse Greene, please.'

'I can't call you Nurse Greene at the dinner table,' he said, bemused.

She smiled and nodded, 'So then it's settled. How long until you leave for Great Ormond Street?'

Her father had never been so assertive, he was sure. She must have got it from her mother. He looked at the grandfather clock. Just after seven. 'In two hours. But if you're not up –'

'I'll be up,' she said, and turned and went quickly up the stairs.

Blake watched her go and then followed a moment later, shaking his head.

He opened the curtains in his bedroom so that the daylight shone in, and put the chimneypiece clock on his bedside table so that the chimes would wake him. He dozed lightly, waking every quarter hour or so, and got up at a quarter to nine. He felt a little more rested but knew it would be a long morning.

Ten minutes later he had changed his shirt and was downstairs. When he went into the dining room he saw Beth lying on the chaise longue beneath the window, asleep. He went over and hunkered down beside her. Her face was sweet in repose.

'Beth,' he said softly. No response. He considered leaving her where she was, but was sure she'd follow him to Great Ormond Street as soon as she woke if he did. He touched her cheek with the back of his fingers and she stirred; her eyes fluttered open. She didn't move, merely watched him. 'Did you fall asleep here on purpose?' he murmured.

She said sleepily, 'I was worried you'd go without me.'

He smiled. It had been a long time since anyone had concerned themselves with where he was and what he was doing. Anyone who wasn't Hyde, that was.

He stood quickly and went to get himself some coffee.

...

 **Hmm, I think Doctor Blake is liking having some company in his house and on his rounds again, don't you?**


	4. Chapter 4

They worked at the hospital until just after two pm, doing rounds of the wards. Beth found it hard to remain detached as she looked upon all the small bodies lying in the beds, covered with measles rashes, bent with rickets or swollen with mumps. The polio ward was the hardest of all. There were children with splints around their legs, learning to walk again. After the night they'd spent, Beth knew they were the lucky ones, the survivors, but the sight still broke her heart.

Doctor Blake worked methodically, with practised ease and sensitivity. He seemed a little more controlled than he had been on the tuberculosis ward, and Beth wondered if that was due to his patients, or to compensate for his exhaustion.

Beth was feeling quite low when they left the hospital, but tried not to show it. She'd been the one to insist on coming with Doctor Blake and she wasn't going to break down in tears because of a sleepless night and a difficult morning.

When they got into the house she hurried upstairs, saying she would sleep, but when she closed the door the first thing she did was gather up her skirts and hold them over her face. She sobbed into them as quietly as she could. She'd seen sick children before, but always in people's homes, one at a time. Never lined up, case after case, in the sheer numbers that she'd seen.

When she'd finished crying she found that she was too restless to sleep, and she rinsed her face in cold water and went back down to the library.

It was mid-afternoon and the house was still and quiet. She scanned the bookshelves, having only a vague idea of what she was looking for. There were several volumes on child mortality, rates of death over the decades, epidemics in London and York. She pulled them down and took them over to the chair by the window and started reading.

…

Beth awoke slowly. She heard the snap and pop of the fire and felt its gentle warmth on her face. The street noise outside had dimmed and the light was soft. She opened her eyes and found she was in the armchair in the library. Doctor Blake was sitting opposite her, brows drawn down, absorbed in a book. He looked rested and freshly shaven, and wore a fitted burgundy waistcoat with his dark suit and high collar.

Beth shifted, and the large book on her lap slipped to the floor with a thump. Doctor Blake looked up, startled, and then his face relaxed into amusement.

'Will you sleep everywhere in this house except your own bed?' he asked.

She sat up. 'I am sorry. I couldn't quiet my mind when I got upstairs so I thought I would read.' She reached for the book that had fallen from her lap. There had been something interesting about mapping cholera in it. She flipped through the pages and was quickly lost in thought once more.

She'd been reading about a physician called John Snow who'd discovered the cause of a cholera epidemic thirty years earlier. No one had even been sure that disease was spread by contagion at the time; rather, they thought it was miasma, or bad air. But he'd plotted cholera cases on a map and determined that a water pump at the centre of the outbreak was the source.

Something about this rang a distant chord in Beth's mind, but she didn't know why. There was something she was trying to understand, but it was evading her.

…

Blake watched Beth as she sat hunched over half a dozen of his medical books, scanning pages and flipping between volumes. Her long curls were falling over one of her shoulders. Absent-mindedly, she twirled a strand in her fingers and ran it over her lips.

He watched her do that for several minutes, and then asked, 'Can I help you find anything?'

Beth looked up, and he saw the unfocused eyes of someone who had been very far away. She wasn't only a good nurse, he realised. She really was interested in medicine. She should study it properly, but he wondered what Hershel would think about his daughter having a career. There weren't many young women in the profession and Blake knew it was difficult for them to be taken seriously. People were prejudiced against young doctors as it was. Young female doctors were openly laughed at. But Blake didn't see anything to laugh about if a young woman showed aptitude and a desire to learn.

'I don't know,' she said, frowning. 'I don't really know what I'm looking for.'

'What is the question that sent you searching, then?' he asked.

She sat back, thinking. 'Country medicine is very different to town medicine, I think. In a morning with my father I might see a farmer's family who has the measles, and a smith's apprentice with a nasty burn. One or two cases of all sorts of things. But in London there are so many people living in such close quarters that you have whole wards full of people with one disease – your men with consumption at St Barts; the children with polio learning to walk again.'

Blake saw agitation on her face. When they'd left St Barts she'd been energised by the possibilities of his surgery. He'd been able to do something to affect outcomes for his patients, and it had excited her. Today, the sight of children had distressed her, and it was little wonder after the night they'd spent, thought she'd kept her distress hidden all through the morning. He looked at her closely and saw that her eyes were a little bloodshot, like she'd been crying.

But he didn't think she was trying to tell him she was upset. She seemed to be struggling toward something else, but didn't know the words to speak it.

Staring at a spot somewhere over his head, she said, 'It was the numbers, you see. Something about the numbers.' She smoothed her hands over the open pages of the book on her lap, a gesture of frustration. 'I just want to understand everything.'

He glanced at the book and saw she'd been looking at a map of Snow's cholera outbreak in 1854. Something clicked in his mind. He got up and went to the bookcase and selected three books.

'Here. I think these might be what you're looking for.'

She took the titles from him and eyed them with interest. 'What are they?'

'They are about epidemiology. The study of patterns of disease in populations. There is one about small-pox. One about cholera. And the last is a history of the bubonic plague. They are not books about the diseases themselves, as such, but about their transmission and how they move through cities and towns.'

'Yes!' she exclaimed, delighted. 'This is exactly what I wanted.' She started rifling through the pages.

He smiled to himself and put one elbow on the chimneypiece and a hand in his pocket, gazing down at her and feeling the warmth of the fire. Every few minutes she murmured a question or pointed out a figure, and he answered her enquiries as best he could. Otherwise he was silent, content just to be close to her, to admire the curve of her neck as she read.

A strange feeling was curling through him, a pleasing blend of contentment and admiration, as delightful as it was unexpected after a night spent attending a dying child and then on a children's ward.

Blake's eyes were fixed on Beth's pretty profile when he realised he was staring. He took out his pocket watch and frowned at the clock face, but he didn't move away.

…

There were three days that followed that didn't include rounds at the hospitals, and Doctor Blake only had a few call-outs. Beth spent most of her time in the library, but not listless like she had been when she'd arrived. She read everything she could get her hands on about the origin and spread of disease.

Doctor Blake sought out pamphlets and journal papers from his collection for her, as well, and she devoured those. Many were written by eminent London doctors, and he promised to introduce her to those who were among his acquaintance.

On Sunday evening she was upstairs changing for dinner into a pale peppermint green gown when she realised she hadn't come across anything that Doctor Blake had written. He was a respected doctor and he was pioneering new treatments; he must have published at least a paper or two. Perhaps even a book.

Over dinner she asked him, and he shook his head.

'No, I don't plan to write a paper on my consumption surgery.'

Beth was surprised. 'But you said you have had promising results. Others might benefit from the same treatment.'

Doctor Blake frowned down at his plate while he cut his meat. 'I have had a recent graduate assisting me. He will write the paper.'

Beth was about to say, _That's not right, it's your work_ , but something about his stony face made her hold her tongue. She was getting used to his need for privacy, even if she didn't like it. That it should extend into his professional life seemed strange. She thought back to all that her father had told her over the years about him, which wasn't much. Doctor Blake hadn't always been a general practitioner, she remembered. He'd specialised in something, but she couldn't remember what.

She toyed with the lace at the neck of her gown a moment before saying, 'Have you published anything else that I could read? I would enjoy understanding your work better.'

'Not for many years,' he said, voice clipped.

Beth shot him an annoyed look that he didn't see. She could respect him being guarded about his personal life, but why be so cagey about his work? 'Didn't you use to specialise in something?' she asked. 'I thought I remember my father saying something about psychiatry.'

Doctor Blake put his knife and fork down and place his hands either side of his plate. He regarded her with a heavy, surly gaze . 'I did. Yes.'

Beth knew that his expression and tone was meant to silence all further questions, but they had discussed all manner of professional matters previously. Why not this? 'What was it?' she asked.

His scowl deepened. 'Behaviourism.'

She considered that for a moment, but she didn't know what it was.

He said, 'It's the branch of psychology concerned with behaviours; the notion that what you observe about a man can inform you of his mental state and health.' He picked up his knife and fork and went back to his food.

 _If I was a student of behaviourism_ , Beth thought, _I would say that Doctor Blake does not like to discuss his former specialisation._ But she wasn't, so she said, 'Like the way you tested Sophia's reflexes the other night and you could tell that there was something wrong with her nerves?'

He looked up in surprise, one eyebrow raised. 'Yes. Quite. There are medical applications.'

'What other applications are there?' she asked, helping herself to more string beans.

He was silent so long that she thought he wasn't going to answer. 'Some behaviourists study the effects of damage to the brain, or the behaviour clusters exhibited by the mentally ill.'

'Is that what you studied?'

Doctor Blake put his knife and fork down once more and laid his napkin alongside his plate, clearly giving up on his meal. He turned the stem of his wine glass in his fingers as he said, 'No. I was more philosophical in my approach. I was interested in the nature of evil.'

Beth stared at him. Whatever she'd been expecting him to say, it was not this. 'Is that not more,' she said slowly, 'of a theological matter?'

'A theologian might be able to point to someone and say that they are evil. I sought to look at that person and discern why.'

Beth was at a loss. She had pressed him to tell her, and now she didn't know what to say. 'But you gave it up?' she asked.

He nodded, his eyes hard and troubled. 'Yes. Nearly three years ago now.'

She could see he didn't enjoy discussing the matter but she couldn't seem to stem her curiosity. It was such a strange specialisation for a medical man. 'Why?' she asked.

He thought about this for a long time. 'Have you heard of Nietzsche?'

'Frederick Nietzsche, the philosopher? I have heard of him, but I have never read his works.'

'I still read some philosophy. Just a few weeks ago I found something that encapsulated the very reason why I gave up my specialisation, in his new book. Though I couldn't put it nearly as elegantly.'

'What was it?'

Doctor Blake looked toward the fireplace for a moment, and then back at Beth. '"He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster. And when you gaze long into an abyss the abyss also gazes into you."' Doctor Blake took a sip of his wine, regarding her with dark eyes. 'I spent too long gazing into the abyss. I have turned my back on it now.'

…

 **So tell me, have you read _Doctor Jekyll and Mr Hyde_ , and are you liking the similarities and differences to the original story? If not, how are you finding Beth and Philip Blake in the Victoriana setting? Or should I say, Brian Heriot, because Doctor Blake is really a lot more like Brian than Philip. Withdrawn. Damaged. But Doctor Blake has emotional scars only rather than the physical ones that Brian also bears. **

**Nine Bright Shiners is creating an AMAZING poster for this story, and she's posted two teasers from it on her Deviantart page. Search 'deviantart darkeningwater' in Google. They're drawings of Beth and they're just gorgeous!**


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